Ghost Town
by Handsome Pete
Summary: Once the heart of the elven empire, Silvermoon City now stands all but empty and forgotten by her allies in the Horde. Are those elves who remain within its walls willing to let it die? What can they do to revitalize their beloved but battered home?
1. Chapter 1

Just an idea I had while on a bank alt in what might be my favorite in-game city. I don't know where I'm going with this, or how often I'll update, so please be patient.

I own nothing but the typos I'm sure I missed when I proofread it. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Jenath thumped his feet against the edge of the stage in a rhythm borne solely of boredom. His fellow auctioneers, he knew, were doing much the same thing. It was the same scene, day in and day out, an auction house, a bazaar, practically an entire city devoid of life.

He puffed in annoyance at the hair falling over his eyes, and at the fact that he couldn't leave. His shift wasn't due to end for hours yet, judging by the angle of the light streaming through the open archway before him.

"This is ridiculous," Jenath said for the thousandth time. And for the thousandth time his colleagues voiced their agreement but offered no solution.

Jenath dropped the few feet to the ground. He brushed the wrinkles from his pants and turned to the other three auctioneers. "I'm going to sit by the fountain. It's too fine a day to spend lazing about in here."

Before the others could protest, though he wasn't sure they intended to, Jenath stepped out into the Bazaar. Across from him a pair of weapons vendors, Rahein and Falendis, sat on the steps in front of the shop they shared. Seeing they were just as busy as he'd been, he waved and turned towards the fountain and the benches surrounding it.

Taking a seat and reclining, Jenath looked skyward. The afternoon sun bathed him in its pleasant warmth, tempered somewhat by the breeze that rustled through the leaves overhead, golden like so much of the city in its eternal autumn.

He drank in the majesty of it all, like he did so often. Crimson banners bearing the Silvermoon crest rippled in that same breeze. Atop his auction house stood a pair of sculpted elf maidens, caught in mid-dance. He knew a similar trio stood behind him, composing the centerpiece of the Bazaar's fountain. And above it all rose the Sunfury Spire, the center of Sin'dorei power and majesty.

How was the city so empty? How could the other races of the Horde so completely ignore such beauty as this? Not for the first time Jenath wondered, but fruitlessly. It had been weeks since he'd seen anyone who wasn't a blood elf, save the handful of ambassadors roaming the streets.

Even they didn't grasp the glory of what Silvermoon had been, what it could be again. He gripped the bench in frustration. As if he'd summoned them with his musings, the emissaries of the Horde strode into sight, closely tailing Ambassador Kelemar. The group passed by Jenath, heading for the Wayfarer's Rest and disappearing inside.

He busied himself with idle though as the afternoon slipped by. When Kelemar finally emerged from the inn, without the band he was forced to lead around Jenath seized the opportunity and hustled to join him.

"Ambassador," Jenath said coolly, falling into step beside the taller elf as he left the Bazaar.

Kelemar eyed him warily for a moment before he responded. "Jenath. How might I help you?"

"How goes the babysitting?"

Kelemar blew a sigh. "Relations with our Horde allies are strong," he answered, monotone, like he was reading a script he'd performed countless times before. For all Jenath knew, he was. "We stand united against the threat posed by Deathwing and his minions, as well as that of the Alliance."

Jenath nodded as the pair strode down the Walk of Elders. "And now that the company line has been recited, what do _you_ think?"

"Why do you assume I think otherwise?"

"Because our city is dead or dying and out _allies_," Jenath spat, "don't seem to care."

"Silvermoon is _not_ dying. The Sunwell is restored; our people no longer need to resort to draining the essence of demons to stave off madness!"

"And yet half of our city lies in ruins, infested with mindless wretches. Undead mass a stone's throw away despite the Lich King's defeat months ago."

"It takes resources to rebuild, resources we're gathering."

"It's been years!" Jenath argued, drawing looks from bored vendors as the pair passed by.

Kelemar shushed him, watching the eyes that watched them. He grabbed Jenath by the sleeve and pulled him along until they stood in one of the city's many choke points, in the shadow of one of the equally numerous Kael'Thas sculptures.

"Between the Legion's attempt to take Quel'Danas," Kelemar started, both elves involuntarily glancing up at the towering likeness of their disgraced former leader, "and the war against the Lich King, our coffers aren't as full as we'd like or need to rebuild. Hence the tax on all auctions, for instance, which you're well aware of."

"Of course, of course. But five percent of nothing is…let me do the math here," Jenath replied, tracing numbers in the air. "Nothing into nothing…carry the nothing…"

Kelemar forced his hand down, flushing in frustration. "I understand your concern but rest assured we are working on a solution. Quel'Thalas will be the jewel of the Horde soon enough."

Jenath laughed, not believing the other elf for a second. "So far all you've managed to do is sit and argue plans of action back and forth in a committee! What good does this do us?"

The ambassador glared daggers but didn't respond, just stalked away. As Kelemar slipped from sight around a corner, the auctioneer leaned against the wall, the marble cool enough in the perpetual fall to chill Jenath through his thin shirt. He blew a sigh, feeling no better from the conversation, ran a hand through his pale tresses, and lost himself in thought on the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

I still own nothing. I'm hopeful that Blizzard will sign Warcraft over to me soon though. Keep your fingers crossed, eh?

* * *

The stench of the beast overwhelmed even the sweetest of perfumes that laced the air, and Jenath almost wished he'd gone home instead of doing an about-face and marching back to the inn and the Horde's ambassadors. The elf almost gagged as he sank into the high-backed chair beside Dela Runetotem.

She didn't notice him at first, too caught up in the Mulgore spice bread that the Wayfarer's Rest's proprietor, Jovia, had imported for the Tauren from a world away. A trio of thick, furred fingers closed around a seemingly miniscule glass of refreshing spring water, and the sight reminded Jenath as much as the odor did that she was an outsider.

The Tauren was the least of all evils though, he mused. At least this one had some culture to her, and was thus marginally more tolerable than the walking, rotting corpse, the simple-minded heathen one step removed from a beast of burden, or the cannibalistic barbarian, that contemptible troll.

Just the thought of the tusked visitor that befouled his beloved home had Jenath sneering. He barely erased the ugly twist of his lips before the Tauren turned her attention his way. The emanations of the mana crystals in the chandelier over their heads gave her dark eyes a faint bluish tint as they studied the blood elf next to her.

"I do not believe we have been introduced," the Tauren broke the silence calmly. "I am Dela Runetotem."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ambassador," Jenath answered with a polite nod.

The Tauren gave a nod of her own. "You know of me, then."

"Indeed I do, madam. I've seen your many circuits through our fair city at Kelemar's heels. By now, you all must know Silvermoon as well as any elf," he said with a grin.

Dela snorted what Jenath assumed was a chuckle, her cloth napkin fluttering on the table in front of her. "Perhaps," she conceded, "though there always seems to be another sight to see, another discovery to be made."

"As it is for us all," Jenath assured the ambassador. "That _is_ one of its greatest appeals. I wish you'd had the chance to see it years ago, before it fell to the Scourge. As beautiful as it is now it pales in comparison to what it once was."

The Tauren nodded her sympathy. "The land still weeps at the memory of the undead march. I can feel it in my bones."

"The remnants of that army still harass us to the south. Our rangers do what they can to thin the ranks, but even with the Lich King's fall their numbers seem endless. I don't understand it," the elf admitted.

Dela's dark eyes narrowed at the table as she stroked the fur of her forearm. After a moment of thought she spoke. "My Forsaken counterpart has received word that the paladins and druids in the Plaguelands have made progress against the blight. Perhaps the remaining Scourge are fleeing north."

"Perhaps," Jenath echoed absently, his mind wrapping around her previous sentence. "You said they've pushed back the blight? The land is restored?"

The Tauren shrugged. "I have not seen the regrowth with my own eyes, but I see no reason to doubt the reports."

"Interesting," said the elf. He rested his chin in one palm and drummed his fingertips against his jaw.

If an area as diseased as the Plaguelands had been could be restored, then surely the Dead Scar, a mere remnant of an army's march as opposed to an area actively poisoned for years, could be erased. It had to be erased. Homes could be constructed anew, the city rebuilt, but as long as that wound remained Quel'Thalas would never be whole.

"Do you think…" started the elf, before pausing to organize the rush of possibilities suddenly materializing in his mind. "I'm certain Lord Bloodwrath and his paladins would welcome any assistance to be found in undoing the damage that mars our home."

Dela cocked her head slightly to the side, just enough for her black mane to brush against her shoulder. "I can pass a message on to the druids in Mulgore. I am sure they will be eager to aid an ally."

"And to cleanse the world of an unnatural evil, of course," Jenath added as a small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. If it really were possible to erase the Dead Scar and once again leave Quel'Thalas pristine, untouched…no city, Alliance or Horde, would match the majesty of Silvermoon!

The blood elf was pulled from his hopeful musings by the Tauren's loud yawn, which was itself an odd sight on someone with such an elongated face. "Excuse me," she said, pressing her palm to her chest. "How rude of me. It seems my many circuits, as you called them, are catching up with me."

"It's entirely understandable, Ambassador," replied the elf, and his grin widened. "Though I won't keep you any longer." He stood and she followed suit, towering over his relatively slight form.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Jenath." Her extended hand enveloped his completely and squeezed just a bit too hard.

"All mine, Ambassador, it was all mine." He fought down a wince when his hand was released and it gave an aching throb.

"I will pass on your request for aid to my people's druids as soon as I am able."

Jenath responded with a smile and a low bow, his hair falling over his eyes, and made his exit with a promise to speak with her again soon. Out of the Wayfarer's Rest he went, already reviewing the mental list he'd made of plots and plans, schemes and scams to bring life back to the dying city.

Between the Blood Knights and any druids who might lend a hand, and of course the ever-present and ever-vigilant rangers, the Scourge presence to the south wouldn't likely be a problem for much longer. That narrowed the issues down to a pair, in Jenath's eyes: how to rebuild the ruined half of the city, and how to bring members of the Horde to this corner of Azeroth.

Important questions, Jenath knew, and he vowed to start the search for answers immediately. Almost immediately, he immediately amended. First things had to come first. At the nearest bed of flowers lining the walkway the elf buried his face in the myriad blossoms and inhaled deeply to flush from his nostrils the odor of the bovine beast.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay. I still own nothing, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

* * *

Jenath very nearly stumbled into, and thus through, his next solution moments later. Still mentally examining what Dela Runetotem had told him regarding the Plaguelands and otherwise distracted by a small songbird perched overhead, chirping happily, the blood elf didn't notice the shimmering air in the twilight that signified an opening portal.

Only after he tumbled to the stone, tangled with the form that spilled out of the rift in space, did Jenath see the red sands and obsidian bulwarks of what could only be Orgrimmar just feet away. The sight hit harder than the impact. Of course, he thought. So simple an answer, so neatly in line with his people's capabilities.

"My apologies, my apologies," said the robed elf who pushed off him to rise. Jenath followed suit and watched the mage brush a bit of dust off his front. "Never entirely sure just where I'll drop, not from _that_ distance."

"No worries, friend," Jenath assured him, though the words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the mage took stock of where he was in the city. Once he had his answer, the newcomer ambled away with a muttered farewell. Behind him, the portal collapsed, the edges of reality knitting back together.

"Wait!" called the auctioneer. He hustled after the mage and caught up to him before he could disappear further into the city or across the Twisting Nether. He drew even with the departing elf, who hadn't slowed, and looked over. "What might your name be, my friend?"

"Inethven," came the answer, and finally the mage looked Jenath square in the eye. "And you are?"

"Jenath, auctioneer extraordinaire," the elf in question answered with a pleasant smile. The mage gave nothing more than a weak, uninterested "hmmm," and inwardly Jenath wondered if the odd spell-slinger had been exposed to a bit too much arcane energy. Or perhaps the Sunwell was restored a touch too late to stop that one's slow slide into the madness of magical addiction. Regardless, Jenath kept his smile plastered on. He needed this mage, after all.

"Yes, hmm. Hello," Inethven replied a moment later, after he realized Jenath was still walking with him.

Jenath resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he would find the one magic-user that fit the stereotype of being awkward and scatter-brained. "Was that Orgrimmar through your portal? I've never been. How does the heart of the Horde compare to our gem?"

Inethven's angular features lit up, and a spike of annoyance shot through the other elf. None but Jenath ever showed such excitement, such enthusiasm for their own home. Mention a bunch of huts in the armpit of Kalimdor, though…

"Marvelous work they've done rebuilding it," the mage answered. "Almost unrecognizable, really."

"Rebuilding it? Did the Alliance…" Jenath started, his irritation momentarily forgotten.

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. And with how the new Warchief had the goblins reinforce it, I doubt the Alliance could if they tried."

So the goblins, the newest members of the Horde, were in the business of construction, were they? Interesting, mused Jenath. He filed that little gem away for the moment. "What were the orcs rebuilding from then?"

"The Cataclysm, of course." Inethven scratched at his temple. "Or rather, the elemental unrest it caused. A renegade fire elemental burned half the city, you see."

"I do indeed. And now it's become a fortress, from what I saw through your portal." A stone fortress, he silently added, admiring the masonry around the wandering pair. A much more durable choice than wood and animal skins.

"Mmm. That Hellscream character, always thinking of war first. I wonder if he realizes we're still technically under a treaty. Even having the Forsaken push into Gilneas, all for land. Really," the mage huffed.

Jenath soaked in every word. He hadn't even asked any of his intended questions yet and already Inethven was opening up new avenues for him to tread in his quest. With the Plaguelands freed from the undead, or soon to be, and an apparently-expanding war machine in need of resources…

The mage rambled on until Jenath cut him off. "Just out of curiosity, Inethven, about your portal…how difficult would it be to establish a permanent one? Here in Silvermoon connecting to, say, Orgrimmar?"

Inethven did a double take at the change of topic. He started to respond before his jaw snapped shut and he stared into space, his brow furrowed. After a moment of thought he spoke. "I suppose it would be possible."

"Well, of course it's possible," he continued with a shrug. "There are such portals in Orgrimmar already. And I even helped establish one in Shattrath some years ago, in order to help take back Quel'Danas from the Burning Legions."

Again Jenath's temper flared. The orcs, a bunch of cudgel-wielding brutes, had portals to other Horde cities while his own race, the oldest and mightiest magical mortals in Azeroth, suffered in isolation. Through gritted teeth he ground out, "What would it take to make them?"

Inethven stroked his chin as they walked. Jenath, by that point, had decided the mage had no specific destination in mind, given his seemingly-random route. Up Murder Row they went, and finally the elf broke the silence.

"A distance that large," he mumbled, more thinking out loud than addressing the auctioneer, "I would need help. Lots of help, if we want the portals stable and safe. And a power source. Multiple permanent portals, too much strain for an individual to maintain…"

"We have the Sunwell," reminded Jenath. "Surely that could provide more than enough energy to keep the portals open indefinitely. And where better than Silvermoon to find help stabilizing them?"

"Dalaran," answered Inethven without missing a beat. "But this will do." The mage squinted into the shadows of Murder Row. "Beggars cannot be choosers, as they say."

Jenath sighed and willed his suddenly-clenched fists to stay at his side. Was he the only elf left with any pride? All of their history, all of their noble traditions as wielders of the arcane, reduced to "beggars" and second in line to the humans…unacceptable. He _would_ see Silvermoon's prestige restored.

"And it isn't quite so simple as just tapping into the Sunwell, you know," Inethven continued. "Anything of the sort would have to go through Grand Magister Rommath and the Regent Lord."

"Oh? I wasn't aware of any such restrictions."

"Yes, yes. You see, it was feared that, having our source of power restored, we would again go down the path to addiction, to insanity. With so few of us left after the Scourge attack and the betrayal of Kael'Thas-"

"Happiness is mandatory, citizen!" came the metallic interruption from an Arcane Sentinel that clanged past. The pair of blood elves stopped to watch the animated giant pass. Was it enchanted to respond when it heard the former prince's name? Jenath shook the thought from his mind, not knowing or, at the moment, caring.

"I will deal with permission from our illustrious leaders. You deal with the logistics. Find your assistants." Jenath started away, only to spin back when the mage, one finely-sculpted eyebrow arched and his head canted to the side, called after him.

"Why exactly are we doing this?"

Backpedaling away, Jenath answered. "To give a breath of life to our dying city!" He spun again and departed, for once knowing exactly who he needed to find next.

Over his shoulder he heard Inethven's parting words. "It seems alive enough to me. What an odd elf."

* * *

Despite his enthusiasm Jenath had to wait until the next morning to track down Kelemar. Perhaps knowing who was knocking at his door in the twilight hours, the ambassador refused to answer. And so Jenath found himself once again drumming his heels against the elevated platform in the center of the Bazaar's auction house. For once he didn't complain about boredom, and if his fellow auctioneers did it failed to register.

Instead he watched the Bazaar like a hawk through the arching doorways. The morning wore away with no sign of Kelemar, or even the other Horde representatives. His patience reached its end, and Jenath hopped off the stage just as he had days ago. This time however, he didn't bother explaining himself.

Out into the Bazaar he went. Empty as always, he thought with a sigh. With luck though, he was well on his way to changing that. The elf shook the thought away, and the pack of ambassadors showed their faces as if on cue. Jenath made a beeline for them.

"Such marvelous sights," the undead was saying as he moved into earshot. "I regret being unable to see it when I was younger."

"Dis place be too bright fa my tastes," the troll chimed in. Jenath almost fired off a remark about it being bright enough for the beast to see just how ugly troll women were, but bit his tongue. No point in antagonizing the thing in front of the others, especially the ones who might prove useful.

"Ambassador Kelemar," Jenath broke in curtly, followed by a polite nod to Dela Runetotem. "Might I have a word?"

With a quiet sigh Kelemar broke free of the group. Four sets of eyes tracked the pair of blood elves as they stepped to the side.

"What do you want Jenath?"

"To continue our discussion from several days ago. I've found some options we can explore to set things right once again. I'm surprised they haven't been tried already, truth be told. They seem obvious in hindsight."

Kelemar rolled his eyes. "As I told you, Silvermoon is in no trouble at all. We can and will rebuild when we are able."

"Which will be never at this rate," shot back the auctioneer. He waved away the taller elf's response before it even started. "No more arguing. If you can convince the Regent Lord to speak with me I can give you our former magnificence."

Kelemar threw his head back and laughed. "An audience with the Regent Lord? Do you really think he has nothing better to do with his time than meet with the commoners to discuss their wishful little schemes?"

"No, I think he has nothing better to do with his time than his job, part of which is to take care of the city!" Jenath shot back, his rising voice enough to interrupt the ambassadors' conversation amongst themselves. With a glance at their curious stares, he quietly continued. "I can help. Give me two days and everything should be in order."

Again Kelemar sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. Fine, if it will get you out of my hair. Two days and you will have your audience. And when the Regent Lord laughs you out of the room or claps you in irons for wasting his time and mine, I'll take great pleasure in telling you…"

"I told you so," Jenath finished with him, but grinned. "There won't be a need, I promise you that. Two days."

Flushed from his apparent victory, his grin still splitting his lips ear to ear, Jenath left Kelemar to his on-looking Horde counterparts. A few loose ends needed to be tied up, and it just wouldn't do to keep the Regent Lord waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again. I've decided how I want to end this whole deal, and it'll almost certainly be the next chapter. No promises as to when that will be, because real life is about to be all, "Free time?! Eff that!" and I'm about to be all, "Wha-huh?" So...yeah. Enjoy. I still own nothing.

* * *

One step through the portal, the sudden heat staggered the blood elf with an almost-physical blow. By the third step, Jenath needed to pry his shirt away from his already sweat-slicked skin. The snicker that followed him through the rift let him know that his reaction hadn't been ignored like Inethven's wardrobe advice had been.

Jenath grumbled over his shoulder but the mage, and his portal, disappeared. He stuck a hand in his pocket and rolled the smooth, polished stone, etched on one side with runes, between his fingers. It was his ticket home, a home that compared quite favorably to this place.

"Never again," the blood elf promised himself. Already the Barrens grated on his nerves rather unpleasantly.

Here and there scurried the squat green inhabitants of the odd little sea-side town. They paid Jenath no mind as the elf slowly strolled down the dirt path that passed as a road in Ratchet, allowing him to take in the settlement in peace. None of the buildings seemed anything special, their plain, box-like architecture certainly not comparing to the majesty of Silvermoon. But then, in his experience, goblins weren't known for their aesthetic sense.

A clanging bell turned Jenath's head to the water to see a wide, three-mast ship gliding to a halt at the single long pier. Goblins bustled about loading and unloading cargo, one barking orders from atop a stack of crates as a handful of adventuring types set foot on Kalimdor.

"Exactly what we need," muttered the elf. A steady stream of warriors, wizards, and everything in between…and their gold, hard-earned and quickly spent. And where better for that to happen than Quel'Thalas?

The wisps of wind off the sea did little combat the oppressive heat, just teased Jenath with the slightest bit of relief as he trudged uphill towards the most bizarre structure in sight, the one Inethven had assured him was home to his goblin liaison.

A handful of spikes protruded from the metal foundation, a second set ringing the building, one from each corner, above the garish yellow siding. Purple cloth with gold trim was strung between the higher spikes on each side, creating awnings that offered no respite from the brutal sun.

Even higher the building narrowed to a single point from which a bent and twisting metal…something pointed skyward. Certain that this was indeed the building he was looking for, Jenath again fingered the hearthstone. If this was what passed as goblin style, perhaps he'd be better off not asking for their assistance rebuilding Silvermoon…

But he hadn't gone around the world, magically expedited though the trip might have been, to back away with nothing. Up the four steps he went, each inexplicably as tall as a goblin, and strolled into the carpeted entrance.

Almost immediately a heavy thrum of machinery assaulted Jenath's sensitive ears. The offending contraptions, a pair of tanks connected to a number of pipes, sat against the right wall of the first floor, serving no purpose as near as the elf could tell. To the left, a set of much more reasonable stairs led up to the second floor, little more than a balcony.

On that balcony lingered the goblin Jenath sought, stacking gold coins on a bookshelf: Gazlowe, the one responsible for the overhaul and transformation of Orgrimmar. A pair of armed bruisers flanked the goblin leader and glared hard at the elf as he glided up to their level, but despite the warning in their stance Jenath was hardly intimidated.

Gazlowe spun to face the visitor after a tap on the shoulder from one of the guards. Only a little surprise at the unusual sight of an elf slipped past the cagey merchant's mask, or so it seemed to Jenath, inexperienced as he was with goblin facial expressions.

"Hello there. Who might you be?"

Jenath bowed low with a flourish. "My name is Jenath, and I've come with a request on behalf of the Regent Lord of Silvermoon." Not the truth, he knew, not quite yet, but accurate enough for now. "Word has reached us of your involvement in the rebuilding of Orgrimmar…"

"And you want our help with your own repairs," the goblin finished. A grin split his face from ear to overlarge ear, and the spinning coins in his mind were almost visible. "Let's talk numbers. It won't be cheap."

Having expected as much and knowing he couldn't back up any offer he might make, Jenath tried a bit of truth. "I'm not authorized to make a deal. No, I am here to offer you an audience with the Regent Lord tomorrow where you and he will be able to discuss the finer details." If the elven lord could be convinced to hear Jenath out, that was.

Gazlowe reached back and yanked a book off the shelf without looking. He flipped through what was apparently his planner, humming as he scanned each page quickly. A moment after his pointed boot started tapping he found what he was looking for.

"I can do tomorrow. That works." The book snapped shut and disappeared onto the shelf again. "Are you handling the transportation or should I catch the next wyvern to Orgrimmar?"

Jenath nodded. "Of course we will take care of transportation. A portal will be provided in the morning."

Gazlowe accepted, the specifics of the meeting were arranged, the pair exchanged farewells, and Jenath did what he could to hide both his excitement and his ever-increasing nerves as he retreated. One more piece was set into place, and surprisingly easily. Just the mention of a potential deal had been enough to entice the merchant. He'd underestimated the greed of the goblin leader.

Once outside where he could no longer feel the bruisers' eyes burning holes in his back he withdrew the hearthstone from his pocket. Ten seconds that stretched to an eternity after he'd drawn on the magic of the stone he vanished, and reappeared in the comfort of his own home.

Waiting there were the exasperated ambassador Kelemar, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the new arrival, and the eccentric mage Inethven, hardly aware of the company, lost in his own little world. Jenath wasted no time with greetings.

"The other ambassadors will be there?" he asked. "And Lord Bloodwrath?"

"Yes, yes, they'll be there," grumbled Kelemar. "More people to watch your half-wit scheme unravel."

"More people to watch the start of our city's climb to glory, you mean," the auctioneer replied. "And your mages, Inethven? You'll have the assistance you'll need to open the portals?"

He had to repeat the question once the mage was paying attention. "Hmm? Oh, yes, once we can tap into the Sunwell we should be quite capable of opening and stabilizing as many portals as we want. Is that a real Hakkari idol?" Inethven asked, pointing over Jenath's shoulder.

The elf rolled his eyes and didn't bother to answer. A few minutes later, after he'd chased the pair out the door, Jenath fell into bed and surrendered to the soothing embrace of slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

All eyes were on Jenath. He'd expected as much, having chosen to make his entry after all the necessary players had arrived. Curiosity infused most of those gazes, interspersed with the occasional eagerness (the goblin, sensing profits in the near future) and wariness (the Regent Lord, which did nothing for Jenath's already-roiling gut).

The elf buried his nerves under reassurances that his plan was good, his argument convincing, and the need apparent. He strode to the center of the circular chamber, the Regent Lord's reception hall, and spun a slow circle. Each visitor, standing or seated cross-legged on one of the many cushions around the room, received a polite nod and as warm a smile as Jenath could muster. Even the troll was thanked for attending, which seemed to amuse the beast to no end.

"You have the floor…Jenath, is it? Though only because Ambassador Kelemar assured me you won't be wasting my time," spoke Lor'themar Theron. "Why have you gathered us here today?"

Jenath bowed low to the Regent Lord, himself seated on what passed as his throne. "Straight to the point then, my lord," he answered as he rose with a smile. "We are here because this city is all but dead and no one seems to care."

Peripherally Jenath saw Kelemar cover his face with his palm, and could almost hear the frustrated mutterings he was sure his acquaintance was spewing. A bit blunt, Jenath conceded in his mind, but he hadn't gone through so much trouble to tip-toe around the issue now.

Whispers echoed through the chamber. Lord Theron didn't react except to arch a single thin brow, his icy gaze never leaving the auctioneer. "Explain."

Sensing his stride was about to be hit Jenath couldn't resist a bit of snark. "Gladly."

He swept his hands wide, encompassing many of the blood elf onlookers. "Many, perhaps most of you, were here in Silvermoon during the days of the Third War. When Arthas attacked…" he trailed off and bowed his head for a moment, as did several others.

"The damage was done. So many of us perished to the undead or to treachery in our own ranks. But we survived. Not even the Scourge could wipe Quel'Thalas from the face of Azeroth, from the pages of history. We gained new allies," he gestured to the Horde ambassadors, "and did to that once-human monster what he tried to do to us. We destroyed him."

"Indeed we did, though I was unaware you played a role," interjected Lord Theron. "I suppose next you'll tell us that you thrust the blade that pierced Arthas's black heart."

"Not at all, my lord, not at all," Jenath assured with a grin. "I am no warrior. I would have missed that small a target. No, I was merely attempting to rekindle the fires of pride, the spirit that has sustained our people through so many hardships. I believe we have need of that now."

"Oh? And what hardship do we now face?" Grand Magister Rommath, the most prominent spell caster in the city and the Regent Lord's advisor on all things magical, made his presence known. "Is there another enemy waiting at our gates, a new foe seeking our end?"

"Nothing quite as dramatic as that," assured the auctioneer. "What we face is the slow but quickening march into obscurity."

"Sounds rather dramatic to me," Lord Theron remarked, to a round of snickers.

Jenath bit back a retort, reminding himself that he was addressing the closest thing to royalty the blood elves had left. Blatant disrespect wouldn't end well. But if a backhanded slight at Lord Theron's competence just happened to slip through his argument…

So he ignored the Regent Lord entirely. Slowly as before he turned on his heel, and addressed those he'd gathered. "It's been years since Arthas marched against us. _Years._ And still half of Silvermoon is in ruins, infested by our own crazed brothers. Why have we not retaken those ruins? Why have we not rebuilt our home and made it once again the finest city in Azeroth?"

"Why do the undead still mass to the south? Even their creator, their lord and master has fallen. Why do they remain? Why have we not destroyed them?"

Nods passed among the visitors, spurring Jenath on despite the daggers he could all but feel shooting into his spine from Lord Theron and Magister Rommath. "Trade with our allies is all but non-existent. Other than the ambassadors here, when was the last time any of you saw a Tauren on our streets? An orc?"

No one offered answer, perhaps because he never gave them the chance. "The city is dying, Lord Theron," he continued, spinning back to the Regent Lord. "Even our own youth leave by the score to see what the world offers, rather than trying to raise ourselves back up. If we continue on like this, soon we'll be nothing more than a ghost town. Is that a fitting end for a city spanning millennia?"

"I think you over exaggerate just-" started Magister Rommath, only to be cut off by Lord Theron.

"And what would you have us do, Savior of Silvermoon? How would you conquer the undead, restore a city that took decades, centuries to raise by hand and by magic, and bridge an ocean to our allies?"

"That, my lord, is where _they_ come in," Jenath replied, doing his best to swallow his pride and again sweeping his hand around the room and its inhabitants. "You, as our leader, have found us many allies in the years since our troubles began. But why go through the trouble of finding them if we aren't willing to ask them for help? As much as I would love for elves alone to restore elvish majesty, we've had little luck so far."

"First and foremost," he continued, "is the remaining Scourge force. How can we deal with them? While our paladins have had some success holding them at bay, they've been unable to eliminate the threat."

Lord Solanar Bloodwrath, leader of the Blood Knights in the absence of Lady Liadrin, nodded along. Frustration was easily read on his face, and even his stance seemed to scream for another chance at the abominations he hated so much.

"But during a lovely discussion with Ambassador Runetotem several days ago, she revealed that the druids of the Cenarion Circle, along with the Argent Dawn, have managed to counteract the blight in the Plaguelands. The land is healing. With their aid, the Scourge will be wiped from the Ghostlands. The Dead Scar will be erased. Quel'Thalas will be whole again."

"The resources and personnel currently fighting the undead can then be brought to bear on the wretches inhabiting the western half of the city. Once taken, our newest ally, Gazlowe of Ratchet," Jenath said with a nod to the grinning green goblin, "responsible for the reconstruction of Orgrimmar in the wake of elemental unrest, can use his and his people's ingenuity to help us rebuild."

"For a fee," Gazlowe chimed in.

"And how do you propose we pay this fee? Rumors have reached my ears of just how…generous…Thrall was when funding Orgrimmar's restoration," the Regent Lord said.

Jenath hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part, but beneath the ice still present in Lord Theron's voice, a quiet note of curiosity emerged. Coupled with the slight easing of the older elf's rigid posture, Jenath felt hope despite himself.

"Two ways, my lord. First, through Warchief Hellscream's ambition. With his growing war machine always in need of resources and the Plaguelands slipping from Scourge fingers, we are in an excellent position to serve as a staging area for a campaign to take control of the area. With the Forsaken moving east and our own army moving south, the Alliance couldn't stand against us."

"As we are now, however, we couldn't likely support the necessary troops or equipment. But if the city were rebuilt, perhaps with docks for ease of transport of those forces…"

"The Warchief _has_ been looking for any advantage over the Alliance vermin," snarled the orc ambassador, Cheneta if Jenath recalled correctly. "It would not be difficult to convince him of the usefulness of a second front from which to take the Plaguelands."

The Regent Lord and Grand Magister exchanged a look, neither speaking, but Jenath sensed that didn't stop them from communicating. His nerves reappeared when Lord Theron asked, "And the second way?"

If there was going to be any difficulty winning over the senior elves, he knew, it would be here, delving into the Sunwell's power so soon after a race-wide case of addiction. Still though, he'd come this far…

"Portals. We're so far removed from the center of the Horde that none of our allies visit without a most pressing need. But if we had a number of portals connecting us to the other capital cities and trade actually flowed between us? Well, perhaps that five percent tax on the auction house might actually bring in some revenue."

Magister Rommath shook his head. "A permanent, stable portal across the world? That would take—"

"I've been assured it is doable, Magister," Jenath interrupted. He pointed to Inethven, who sat watching a pair of arcane familiars chase each other in circles in front of him. "Inethven has seen them in both Dalaran and Orgrimmar. And yet we, as the oldest and most experienced magic wielders among the mortal races have nothing?"

"They would require a power source, an astronomical amount of energy to maintain. The only possibility would be…" The mage's eyes went wide. "The Sunwell?! Absolutely not!"

The Regent Lord snapped his gaze to the auctioneer and rose to his feet. "I agree. I will not allow us to again become slaves to our hunger. You've thought this out well, I admit, including ideas that have not occurred to us. But the risk of using the Sunwell is too great."

"There is no risk," argued Jenath. "We wouldn't be tapping the well ourselves. A handful of mages would establish the connection to create each portal, then only the occasional check would be necessary."

"A drain of that magnitude would need near-constant monitoring. An unchecked surge of energy could tear a rift in the fabric of the dimension and destroy the _rest_ of the city. And that isn't mentioning, of course, the possibility of one of those monitoring mages falling to temptation. A super-charged, questionably sane being capable of bending reality? No, thank you."

A fair position for the magister to take, conceded Jenath. He eyed to oblivious Inethven, wondering what else the absent-minded mage had understated or flat out not explained. It was no matter though. He was certain he'd convinced the Regent Lord that the Horde could be of service restoring Silvermoon to glory.

And then it all crumbled. In the entrance appeared an orc bearing Orgrimmar's colors. He pulled up short at seeing the chamber as crowded as it was. His single-braided beard swayed forward before thudding back to his chest. His eyes sought Cheneta's and she rose to meet him.

The pair of orcs spoke in hushed tones, all eyes watching, waiting. When they separated a clearly surprised Cheneta addressed Lord Theron after a moment to collect herself.

"By the order of Warchief Hellscream, all able-bodied warriors of the Horde are to assemble in Orgrimmar immediately. Leave a force able to defend your city. The rest sail to war."

The chamber all but exploded into demands for explanations. It took several moments and an ear-straining boom from magister Rommath to restore order. Once he did, however, Lord Theron motioned for Cheneta to elaborate.

"Scouts have discovered a new continent, far to the south, with no sign of an Alliance presence. The Warchief doesn't believe it will stay that way for long. He intends to claim it for the Horde."

Lord Theron sighed and his shoulders sagged. "Very well. If the Warchief commands it, it shall be done."

He turned to Lord Bloodwrath and Magister Rommath. "Prepare your forces to leave immediately. Send all you can spare. And Rommath, if you would be so kind, please pass the word to the Ranger General."

The pair bowed and departed, one through the door and one through a shimmering spot of air. Sensing the meeting had reached its end and no more explanation was forthcoming, most of the crowd filtered out as well. Inethven departed with Gazlowe, Kelemar with the other ambassadors, and the handful of blood elves went to prepare of a trip for an even emptier city.

All but Jenath. He stood frozen, pinning the Regent Lord with a glare the other elf had yet to notice. "That's it? Some barbarian says jump and you ask how high?"

"Ware your words, Jenath, both because of who you speak to and who you speak about. The Warchief rules the Horde, of which we are a part. You know this, as most of your solutions involved using that alliance." The older elf matched Jenath's glare with his own.

But the sudden dismissal of his efforts, the plan that moments earlier had seemed certain to succeed, had been a blow that knocked any sense of caution out of Jenath. "We can rebuild! We can make everything the way it was before! It's _so simple_, and you won't even try!"

His voice cracked, and his narrowed eyes stung. "You would put the Horde before the welfare of your own people? You would do nothing to reverse our decline? All for the glory of the Horde? You're no better than Kael'thas, the traitor himself!"

As Jenath spoke, any sympathy Lord Theron showed slowly faded away. At the mention of the previous ruler, the Regent Lord nodded slightly over Jenath's shoulder.

A cold metal hand clamped down on that shoulder, driving the auctioneer to his knees on the carpet and forcing a pained cry as fingers dug into flesh. "Do not be disheartened. Silvermoon will remain strong through this course of events," spoke the newly-arrived arcane guardian.

With another nod from the Regent Lord, the guardian activated one of its latent enchantments, teleporting itself, and the struggling Jenath out of the chamber, out of the city itself to where the elf could be…re-educated.

Lor'themar, alone in his throne room, spoke softly to no one. "Happiness is mandatory, citizen."

* * *

Well, there you go. I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter, since it's mostly rehashing what's already been said. I'm sure many/most of you saw the ending coming too. Doesn't help that, since Silvermoon hasn't really changed in the last three expansions, our hero was doomed to fail. Maybe next time I'll pick something a little more open. Until then, thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Farewell!


End file.
